


freely given

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Masquerada: Songs and Shadows (Video Game)
Genre: Light D/s, M/M, PWP, no seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 21:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: While this was not a current that Kalden had thought to look for, he is not averse to letting it direct his course.





	freely given

Kalden tries it out one lazy afternoon while he’s digging his thumbs into the perpetual knots in Cicero’s shoulders and back. Cicero carries too much tension there, always has. The stubborn fool will carry on without complaint until he’s wincing and rubbing his temples, trying to stave off the oncoming headache, and then Kalden will have to bring him a mug of tisane and watch him sternly until he drinks it - if he doesn’t, Cicero is liable to put it down and forget, caught up in his writing, and then Kalden will have to herd him to bed, pulling the curtains closed as Cicero curls up into a lanky ball of misery.

Much better to have Cicero stretched out beneath him on the bed, shirt and tunic abandoned on the floor as Kalden drags oiled thumbs down the sides of Cicero’s neck and presses in. Cicero makes the most _amazing_ noise as the tension starts to unravel under the insistent pressure - and that’s the _other_ reason this is not a hardship; Kalden would brave the White Spire all over again just to hear Cicero sound like this, sleepy and rapturous and utterly unguarded.

“Mmmm, don’t - _don’t_ stop. Don’t ever stop,” Cicero murmurs, and the way his face is turned Kalden can just see the way his eyelashes fan out over his cheek and his lips turn up. “That’s an order, Mariner” Kalden huffs, but the title is familiar and well worn, a reminder of just how far they’ve come.

“Of course, _sir_.” It’s meant as a joke as Kalden presses the heels of his hands in sweeping arcs across Cicero’s shoulder blades, but the low moan beneath him has a sudden breathy undercurrent, and as Kalden watches, the arch of Cicero’s visible ear turns faintly red. Kalden pauses, hands slowing on Cicero’s skin.

Interesting. Cicero claims no rank, not anymore, although the Consilio would certainly like to give him one. He seems reluctant to put another yoke around his neck, but Kalden doubts Cicero will be able to stay out of the ebb and flow of politics for long. He’s far too useful a public figure for Ombre to leave him in obscurity; even if Cicero might prefer otherwise, Kalden doubts the Citte - or the Lady - is done with him yet.

Which makes quiet moments like this one all the more precious, and worth savoring.

But apparently he’s been still for too long, because Cicero turns his head and cracks one eye, peering at Kalden over his shoulder.

“Why did you stop?” His voice is plaintive, so unlike the authoritative tone he adopts automatically in public. Kalden thinks back to a tall stranger in the halls of the Registry, spine as straight and head held high as the proudest guild member, the unconscious mantle of _Inspettore_ returning even before he donned the uniform. Cicero had still smelled of sea salt, Kalden remembers, and had been dressed so plainly as to turn heads, but the air of command is hard to unlearn.

It certainly has its uses, though, and while this was not a current that Kalden had thought to look for, he is not averse to letting it direct his course.

“My apologies,” he says gravely, and with his hands resting lightly on Cicero’s ribcage he can clearly feel the hitch in Cicero’s breath when he adds, “sir.” Cicero is still for a long moment, then he pushes himself up, turning so that Kalden has to shift back to give him room. Cicero props his hands behind him, holding himself up as Kalden kneels over his legs.

“Are you looking for orders, Mariner?” And there it is, that way that Cicero has of talking around things when he’s angling to gather more information. It took careful observation and some time, but Kalden eventually realized that Cicero rarely actually lies to anyone, even those he intends to deceive. He’s far too careful for that, phrasing his responses instead so that the listener can interpret them as they wish. Kalden wonders sometimes if Cicero even knows that he does it; if it was something he adopted in the Registry, or if it was a harsh lesson learned even earlier.

Cicero’s still looking at him, waiting to see where Kalden will land, so Kalden leans forward carefully, planting his hands on the bed on either side of Cicero’s hips. Cicero doesn’t move, just watches him as Kalden leans forward and presses their lips together gently.

“Only the ones it pleases you to give,” he says when he draws back, smiling at the fire that kindles in Cicero’s eyes.

“Hmm. In that case -” Cicero leans back into the pile of pillows that have been his contribution to the bed, and plants one bare foot in the middle of Kalden’s chest.

“Continue,” he says, and his voice has an unmistakable ring of command even as his eyes go hooded.

“Yes, sir,” Kalden says as he takes Cicero’s foot in his hands, and the grin on Cicero’s face turns into a moan as Kalden digs his thumbs into the arch. Kalden presses smooth, deep lines into the sole of Cicero’s foot until his toes flex and his eyes flutter closed. Then Kalden trades feet and does it all again.

“Nn _ngh_ .” There’s no word but _moan_ for the noises Cicero is making, and Kalden shifts his knees a little wider even as he grins. Cicero blinks his eyes open with what looks like great effort, and Kalden feels himself flush as Cicero blatantly eyes him up and down.

“Clothes off,” Cicero orders, an anticipatory gleam in his eye, and Kalden presses his lips to Cicero’s ankle before setting it down and peeling off his tunic. His trousers and underthings are easily dealt with, and soon he’s kneeling naked before Cicero again, who’s watching him with an appreciative gaze.

“Now mine.” Cicero’s voice is deepening even as a flush spreads across his cheeks and down his chest, but his words still carry a tone of command, and Kalden grins and moves to comply. Cicero folds his arms behind his head and watches keenly as Kalden undoes his belt, although he does lift his hips slightly as Kalden drags his trousers down his legs. Cicero draws those long legs back up and Kalden’s breath catches at the sight he makes, pale skin turning rosy as  Cicero skates a hand down his chest and wraps it around his already half-hard cock.

“Now,” Cicero commands huskily, stroking slowly. “Make me ready.”

“Yes sir,” Kalden murmurs as he reaches for the bottle of oil, and he doesn’t miss the way Cicero’s eyes go heavy and dark.

At the first gentle press of a finger Cicero bites his lip; when Kalden adds a second Cicero moans, and when Kalden presses just _so_ Cicero’s eyes flutter closed on a noise that he will vehemently deny later, but that Kalden is definitely going to call a _whimper_. He leans his cheek on Cicero’s knee and twists his fingers, watching raptly the pleasure chasing itself across Cicero’s face, unselfconscious in the bedroom as he is nowhere else.

He must feel Kalden watching him, because Cicero cracks an eye, peeking at him from beneath his lashes.

“Ages, Kal, just _nngh_ -” Kalden twists his fingers again and Cicero cuts off on a strangled noise. “Just _fuck me_ already,” he gasps out when he gets his breath back.

Kalden grins against his knee. “And if I don’t?” Cicero’s eyes fly open, but Kalden sails ahead. “If I keep you here, writhing on my fingers until you fall apart on them?” This may be pushing the game too far, but -

Cicero laughs, breathless and giddy. “If you _don’t_ , Mariner, then you will certainly live to regret it.” He bucks his hips against Kalden’s fingers. “ _Now_ , Kalden.”

Kalden presses a kiss against the inside of Cicero’s knee. “Yes, sir,” he says as he pulls his fingers out, grinning at the small noise Cicero makes. He reaches for the oil again as Cicero turns over, slicking up his own neglected cock and enjoying the sight of Cicero peering over his shoulder impatiently. Kalden leans forward, bracing a forearm on the bed near Cicero’s shoulder as he positions himself.

“As you command,” he murmurs, and bites gently on the shell of Cicero’s ear as he pushes in.

Cicero moans beneath him and Kalden will never get tired of this, of the indomitable Cicero Gavar coming undone at his touch. Cicero’s whole body flexes as Kalden works his way in, hands fisting in the pillows and mouth falling open. He finds his voice again, because he can never be silent for long, and his indistinct murmurs - _mmmm_ and _yes, Kal_ and the occasional demanding _more_ \- blur together in Kalden’s head with the tight heat around his cock. He sets a gentle rhythm, rocking further in with every thrust, and Cicero makes appreciative noises as his eyes flutter shut again. Kalden noses into the crook of Cicero’s neck, letting the heat and the gentle roll of Cicero’s voice wash over him, until a sharp tug on his hair makes him look up.

“I said _more_ , Kal.” Cicero sounds pleasingly out of breath but he’s scowling at Kalden as best he can over his shoulder. “I won’t - you don’t have to - ages, you won’t _break_ me.”

“I know I won’t.” Kalden runs his lips over the curve of Cicero’s shoulder to feel him shiver. “But you deserve the care of someone who’s not trying to.”

Cicero shudders again and turns his face into the pillow, hiding his expression, but Kalden can see the flush on his neck deepening. For all the affection Cicero gives unreservedly, unashamedly, he still seems unused to receiving it; waiting for the catch, for the demand on the other end of the promise. He would not stand for this behavior in a friend - would roll right over it or gently bully them out of it - but he can’t quite seem to take the same care with himself.

That’s all right. They’re working on it. Works in progress, all of them.

Regardless, Cicero has asked and so Kalden will deliver; he shifts his knees wider and the entire bed _rocks_ with the next thrust. Cicero groans and shoves his ass back up toward Kalden’s hips, and Kalden digs his fingers in as he picks up speed. Cicero’s squirming underneath him again, breath coming in short little pants as he grinds his hips into the mattress, desperate for friction. Kalden takes pity on him, shifting back and pulling Cicero’s hips up so he can get a hand on Cicero’s cock, hard and leaking against his stomach. Cicero moans, low and ragged, as he tries to move forward into Kalden’s hand and backwards onto his cock at the same time, and Kalden has to bite his lip to keep from coming right then.

He wants Cicero there first, though. Cicero is already drawing taut beneath him, so Kalden strokes firmly once, twice, and then Cicero’s entire body stiffens and he’s coming in shuddering bursts, face still buried in the pillow. Kalden isn't far behind, and he presses his face into Cicero’s heaving shoulder as his own release catches up with him.

Cicero lets him lay there for a few minutes and then shrugs at him, and Kalden rolls obligingly to the side, gathering Cicero up in his arms. The bed is a mess and so are they, but Kalden can’t bring himself to care; it’s enough to pull Cicero back against his chest and tangle their legs together. There will be time to clean up later; Cicero will make a face about the oil in his hair and on the linens, but these things can be washed away. Moments like these are worth savoring, indeed, and Kalden is doing his best these days to impress them in his memory.

Cicero threads his fingers through Kalden’s and pulls their hands to rest against his stomach, fingers tapping thoughtfully, and Kalden grins against his hair.

“You’re thinking so loudly I’m amazed they can’t hear it downstairs,” he says. “What are you scheming?” Cicero huffs, and Kalden shifts enough so that Cicero can turn and look him in the face.

“Only the ones it pleases you to give,” he repeats back, reaching up to touch Kalden’s face, smiling softly, and Kalden snorts, because of _course_ Cicero hung on to that phrase. “We’ll make a politician out of you yet, Mariner.”

“I hope not,” he replies. “I leave that to more capable hands.”

“Hm. I think these hands are plenty capable,” Cicero says, but his eyelids are drooping and his body is growing lax and Kalden gathers him up again, ignoring his sleepy protest.

 _Only the ones it pleases you to give_. Cicero seems to think it an impressive statement; but then again he does look for multiple meanings, either by training or natural inclination. Let him turn it over as he will. Kalden will be waiting when he reaches his conclusion

It is, after all, nothing more than the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
